


They strike to kill (and you know I will)

by Rvensfeather



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (and beyond), (mutual)manipulation, (not literally), Black Hermione Granger, Blood and Violence, Both of them are a little bit mad, Dark Hermione Granger, Dark Magic, Dark-ish, F/M, Hogwarts, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Insanity, Legilimens, Magic, Manipulation, Monsters, Not a lovestory, OOC, Referenced Torture, Revenge, Time Travel, Tom really thinks he's the smartest, Toxic Relationship, idk how tags work someone help me pls, if it can even be called a relationship, lowkey unreliable narrator, maybe ooc?, my writing style is a mess, no fixed pov, torture (not too descriptive)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29136666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rvensfeather/pseuds/Rvensfeather
Summary: Because Hermione Granger was soft, but her softness didn't make her weak. She was a flower, whose petals, when fallen, left an imprint in time and space, forever reminding of the innocence she had lost. And today, her petal had landed on Tom Riddle.orTom Riddle is way too arrogant for his own good and that will be his downfallorHermione Granger is back and she is mad as hell
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 21
Kudos: 60





	They strike to kill (and you know I will)

**Author's Note:**

> **Trigger warnings: Blood, violence, torture, (mutual) manipulation, death (referenced), toxic relationship**  
>  If I should add any just notice me and I'll do it

Hermione Granger had always been exceptionally kind. No matter who you asked, you'd always get the same answer. Hermione Granger had no enemies. 

The Gryffindors admired her for speaking her mind, even when the professors made it clear it was not appreciated. 

The Hufflepuffs admired her for always helping her classmates, never once getting frustrated when someone didn't understand it. 

Her fellow Ravenclaws admired her for her intellect, her brilliance and her fast mind and the fact that she stayed grounded non the less. 

Even the Slytherins grudgingly admitted they admired the way she had the professors wrapped around her finger, playing them like a fiddle. 

So, when Tom Riddle- 6th-year-prefect of Slytherin and leader of the newly formed Knights of Walpurgis- stormed into their common room, ranting about who that Granger girl thought she was and what made her think that she was allowed to best him in transfiguration, it's safe to say that more than one were confused. 

Tom Riddle, on the other hand, was furious. He had never been bested in class before. And that horrible, little mudblood dared to show up and surpass him, all in a matter of half a year. Who did she even think she was, marching into this castle in the middle of a school year and claiming it for her own? 

He prided himself in being neither stupid nor blind, so of course he had noticed what happened.

When she had first showed up, she had been nothing more than another victim of the wars. The professors pitied her, gave in to her big brown eyes filled with tears. Headmaster Dippet granted her asylum, took her in and before he could even have said "Quidditch" he was wrapped around her finger just like the rest of the staff was. 

At first, he was only annoyed. So much fuss for nothing. Life wasn't fair, and it seemed like the staff seemed to forget it as soon as they laid their eyes on her fragile silhouette. And then he had caught her smirking while Dumbledore had once again asked her if she could remember anything, and he knew. 

Why she hadn't been sorted to Slytherin was a miracle. 

The Hufflepuffs were the first to fall under her spell. Almost as easy as the teachers, Tom mused and noted it for later. He did not know what exactly she did, but it seemed like her sob story got into their big hearts and manipulated them from inside. Soon, she was always surrounded by a few badgers, quick to jump to her defense. 

Gryffindor was next. It had taken one action on her side, and lions followed her every step. After telling Beery- their herbology teacher- politely but fiercely to sod off, which resulted in her getting detention, they seemed to see an honorary Gryffindor in her. It may have been a stupid move, if it hadn't gotten her exactly what she wanted. 

The Ravenclaws were more hesitant, sceptical of her jumping personality and introvertness. But after a while, let it be maybe three months, they saw a prodigy in her. Whatever spell she tried, whatever potion she brew, she nailed it. And they were fascinated by it. How such a small, little thing managed to break every record, even those of their genius transfiguration professor, was a miracle. 

The last to fall were the Slytherins. But in the end, they fell nevertheless. Tom knew, from firsthand experience, that manipulating Slytherins took its sweet time. Most of them had their own ambitions to see to, their own lies to spin. But when they fell for it, they fell hard. 

It was the sly, little smiles at the fawning Hufflepuffs, a victorious glint in her eyes. It was deliberate cracks in her mask, cracks that she created, which made the Slytherins fall for it. None of them saw through her disguise. None except Tom. 

In Tom's mind, Hermione Granger was a puppetmaster, whose goal he had not yet found out. In his mind, she was like him, cold and cruel and void of all emotion. And that's where he went wrong. 

Because Hermione Granger was soft, but her softness didn't make her weak. She was a flower, whose petals, when fallen, left an imprint in time and space, forever reminding of the innocence she had lost. And today, her petal had landed on Tom Riddle. 

It had started out as just another day at school, his schedule ending with a double transfiguration. And it was then, in this class he already hated, that Albus Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling like a bloody christmas tree, proclaimed her to be his top student in class. 

And all she had done was blush and thank him, playing coy. 

She had so many possibilities, and took none of them. It was infuriating, infuriating to see that she used her power over the school for nothing but trivialness. 

She had the school at her feet, and all she did was throw them smiles and kind things. 

So, Tom had decided after that Transfiguration class, it was finally time to confront her. 

And oh, never had he been played this bad before. 

It had started out as a normal conversation between two students from different houses. Mainly school-related, asking how she settled in, complimenting on her hair styling. Somewhere between casual small talk and thinly veiled attempts to threaten her, he deducted later, she must’ve lost her cool.

“I want you to know, Tom Riddle, that I’m going to destroy you. That I will look at your empire burning and I will laugh for I will know that justice has found its way. It will always find its way. And that, when you stand in the smoking ruins, you will remember this moment and wish you left me alone.”, She had hissed under her breath, cold, brown eyes staring right through him. For one single moment she had let her mask fall, and allowed him to see exactly what was under it. 

Oh, how he had loved it. It was monstrous and cruel and so far from human that it made his stomach curl in delight. It made all the nerves in his body tingle from excitement and he ached to start playing. Deep inside of his twisted mind, little Tom Riddle recognized her as a same soul, the same insanity taunting all of her edges. And deep inside his twisted mind, they belonged together. 

Looking back he should’ve known. He should’ve run the moment she first set a foot in the castle, conquering it like it was nothing. He should’ve run the moment she laid her eyes on him, timid and afraid and so much hiding behind that mask. Little did he know that even if he ran, she would’ve followed everywhere he went.

_This could’ve been a story about love. About how love can turn even the worst monster into something good. This also could’ve been a story about rage. About how rage could’ve turned the most wholesome being into a monster._

_It is neither. (or maybe it is both)._

Tom Riddle wholeheartedly believed he was the master of the game they played. In his unbelievable arrogance he thought he had seen what she was like. He was so sure he knew what she was doing, getting the castle to support her instead of him.

In that moment on the corridor, she had gone from Puppet Master to just another aspiring to be powerful. To himself, he had thought, maybe I let her have it a bit. It wasn’t that bad, really, after all, she was a monster too.

He had never understood the difference between being a monster and doing monstrous things.

She had tried to explain it to him once, while writing an essay for Defence. “Being a monster”, she had said, “ means you enjoy what you do. It means you bathe in the cruelty you chose and embrace it with your entire being. Doing monstrous things can be the product of necessity, being forced to do whatever it takes to accomplish your goal. Even if it destroys your life.” 

She had smiled then, her damn, soft smile and he had almost felt sorry for whatever she had gone through. His monster felt the pain her monster felt, breaking down walls he hadn’t even known existed. 

He had wanted to answer. He had wanted to promise her he would let her rip them apart before he did the same to her. (Deep down he knew if he just repeated it often enough, he would believe it.) 

Tom Riddle believed he was the master of the games they played. He thought he saw every string, cut it before it attached to him. Every string she slung around his hands, his legs, his mind he cut. 

And still, unbeknownst to him, her petals kept falling, falling through time and space. Her petals kept falling and exploded on the landing, taking everything in their surroundings with them. Lucky then, that they only landed on him.

Sometimes she was so incredibly mudblood it made him sick to his stomach. How could someone so dirty be this powerful? 

He found her reading Shakespeare in the library. She had charmed the book to make it look magical, but still, a simple glamour could not fool him.

He had asked her then, why she read it, and she had only looked at him. Her dark eyes had shimmered, and he had not believed her. “It makes me feel at home”, she answered, and turned away. 

"and every fair from fair sometime declines/by chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd" 

Tom Riddle had wondered then if she knew. If she knew that leaving this world behind terrified him most. If she knew that it was dying that kept him up at night. 

She had just smiled her damn, soft smile, and her shimmering eyes made him believe that she had seen monsters he had never dreamed of. 

“Shakespeare states only love can make you immortal”, her voice had shaken, and he didn't know why. “Do you believe it?” He knew her answer before she opened her mouth. She turned her head again, her bushy locks bobbing in the movement. 

"No matter what you do, nothing ever makes you truly immortal. You'd do well to remember it when I come for you, Tom Riddle." 

_In the end, she asked herself: Was she a monster or just doing monstrous things? (you tell me)_

She was insane. She was completely and utterly insane. Her mind was fractured by madness, shattered pieces of brilliance and thoughts flew past him everytime he entered it. 

She had built herself a palace out of the pieces and ruled the shards with an ironfist. Her smile was cold and cruel as she sat on her throne and he never noticed how he was just another shard. 

Blood slowly dripped down her temple, reddened the dark skin, the unmistakable stench of iron filled the room. Only her breathing betrayed her, else he would've thought her dead. 

The blood stained her white blouse, each drop coloring its surrounding dark red. It looked almost like a flower. 

She never cried. Not once when he so forcefully entered her mind, had tears left her eyes. And when he was finished ravishing her mind for any secrets and didn't discover any of them, she had only laughed. 

Laughed despite her temple bleeding, her world spinning around her like a carousel. She had laughed and he never had understood why. 

In that moment, she went from another one hunting for power to out of her mind, entirely crazy, insane. Insane. Insane. Insane. 

And still, he liked the way she fooled everyone around her. He liked the way she was so cold while she smiled the warmest smiles. He liked the way she pretended to have sanity. 

“Oh Tom”, she had said before he tried to read her mind, “my mind is a place you don't want to enter. I don't like it and I live in it.” 

Now he understood. 

“Oh Tom” , she had said after he tried to read her mind, “my mind is a mess and still I navigate it. What would happen if it wasn't?” 

What would happen if it wasn't?  
What would happen if it wasn't?  
What would happen if it wasn't? 

He didn't dare to think about it. 

“Why aren't you afraid?”, he had asked as she lay bleeding in the chamber of secrets. “No one will search for you”. He knew he was right. Everyone thought her to be gone for the holidays. 

“Because, in the end, Tom Riddle”, she had coughed and sat up. The blood on her temple mesmerized him. “Even if I'm insane, so are you. And people like us never survive.” 

He had kissed her then. Her lips had been as soft as her smile, blood smeared under his hands as he took her face into them. 

When they parted, she had grinned. She had shown him her teeth, and his monster had howled in delight. She was like them, a monster bearing a human face, a dead wearing the skin of living. 

“I will make you regret you have ever met me”, she had whispered. “Prove it”, he had answered. 

_Her mind was a mess and she played him like a fiddle. What would be if it wasn't?_

When it happened the first time, he had thought it to be a coincidence. When it happened the second time, he had thought it to be odd. When it had happened the third time, he got concerned. 

She flickered. Hermione Granger had flickered, springing in and out of existence. 

It was a fever the first time. “A Muggle sickness” , the nurse had said, “we can't do much”. He was sure she died in his arms that night, her body shivering, hot and cold at the same time, sweat running down her brow. Her breath had quickened, hitched and then stopped. 

To say it didn't made him feel would be wrong. He did it non the less. 

The second time had been a fall. She had always hated flying. And then one of those mindless Gryffindor-idiots just had to take her on a ride. It had broken her spine, her legs and her arm. Her rips were cracked. Her entire body was black and blue, and no fleck of skin unscathed. Her breath hadn't quickened nor hitched this time. It was so weak he had trouble detecting it, her magic swirling around her protectively. He was sure she wouldn't last the night. 

This time, he didn't stay with her. He made the Gryffindor pay instead. He ripped his legs out first, for the bones he had broken. He twisted his arm until it fell off and cracked his spine in two. Blood was the carpet that decked the chambers halls that night, and his eyes flickered red. 

She was his, and only his to hurt. This time, he admitted it made him feel. He met these feelings with rage. 

The third time was the worst. The third time was always the worst. “It had been Grindelwald”, was her only answer. Her body was decked with runes, carved into her dark skin. Runes in her back and her stomach, her arms and her legs. Her hair cut short, runes in her neck. The floor was showered in her blood, the moss around her unable to soak it all up. 

If Dumbledore hadn't, Tom would’ve ruined the German wizard right there. 

This time, not even her magic had power left to protect her. She lay bare in front of him, scars covering both her body and mind. And when she opened her eyes, he could see the insanity in them, the one he knew had always been in her. 

“You should be dead. How are you still alive?” He asked her, holding her hand while she lay in the bed. “I'm Immortal, didn't you know?” She joked and he laughed at her poor attempt of a joke. 

Little did he know she always managed to fool him best by telling the truth. 

“Don't be silly”, he berated her. “You've said it yourself, nothing ever makes you truly immortal”. Her view gazed off into the distance. “I did say that, didn't I?” 

Each time she died, he fell in love a little more. Each time she died, she lost herself a little more. And each time she woke up and he held her hand, she wanted to rip it off and make a necklace out of his fingertips. 

_This is not a story about love. This is not a story about revenge. This is a story about two monsters pretending to be human. (or is it?)_

They lived their last year at Hogwarts peacefully. Hermione still boasted him in Transfiguration and he was relieved when he finally said his last goodbye to the hated professor (he never thought it would be the last time he saw him.)

Hermione graduated with top grades and Tom did too, “you two await a bright future”, Slughorn had said. Tom had scoffed and wished to kill him on the spot. Hermione had laid her arm on his and smiled. 

Dippet had rejected his application for defense-professor and Tom had raged. He had raged and yelled and screamed and killed a rat and Hermione had cleaned the room after him, her dark skin so deliciously shining with blood that he had wanted to take her right there.

She had visited him at work one day, dancing through the dark artifacts like they were nothing. “Woman”, Borgin had yelled when she stumbled and fell into his arms. The Foe-glasses in the back had swirled and twirled and then exploded into hundred shatters that decorated her dress. “She’s a little bit insane”, the owner of the shop had later stated. “She is”, Tom had agreed. His monster had howled, but she is mine 

And one afternoon when he came back early from Borgin & Burkes-he had expected her to be absorbed in studies like she always was- she had awaited him, her smile as cruel as when they had first met. 

Dearest Tom, she had whispered, sitting down on his lap, care to explain to me why your whimsy little followers observe my every step? 

She had slept at Malfoys bride-to-be house, coming back in the morning with a malicious grin and the promise to make him regret everything. 

(He had NOT been afraid she would run, certainly not. That's a completely silly idea) 

For two monsters, they had lived a relatively normal life. Tom came back late in the evenings, Hermione waited alone. Tom had more meetings with his knights, Hermione claimed she wasn't interested. Tom killed muggles in his freetime and called it liberation, Hermione broke into the ministry in her freetime and called it research.

Grindelwald was defeated, they didn't care. Dumbledore was called a hero,and Tom knew who to look out for. (it should never come so far). 

Everytime he came home late, Hermione had brewed him a new potion, presenting her research. Everytime he had a meeting, Hermione would come for him later, soothe any desire the magic would make him crave. Everytime he killed muggles, Hermione would cover up his tracks and lick the blood from his lips. 

But everytime she was alone at home, she plotted to take everything Tom owed to her. Everytime she wasn't interested, she practiced to slice Tom up from top to bottom, imagined his blood on the fine carpet and smiled. Everytime she broke into the ministry and called it research, she talked to magic and watched her friends die over and over. 

She watched her friends die over and over again. 

Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over (red hair, empty eyes) over and over and over and over (faded emeralds, bleeding scars) over and over and over and over and over (blonde hair, dreams gone) over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over-

_Over and over again (her fire lit upon the pain and burned brighter and brighter)_

Tom Riddle thought he had Hermione Granger under his control, making her dance after his tune. 

Their monsters were the same, he believed, the same shared lust for destruction and the freedom that came with it. And if it were that way, he should've known better. 

You can't tame monsters. You can't make them behave. You can't attach strings to their limbs and expect them to dance. 

That was his gravest mistake. (He never knew that her monsters were worse- after all, she faced them everyday) 

He saw himself in her and tried to manipulate her. He saw the mysteries around her and tried to unravel them. He saw the bloodlust in her eyes and tried to confine it. He saw her life and tried to control it. 

And that's where Tom Riddle went wrong. 

Tom Riddle was always meant to fall. It was the way things worked. Magic saw him doing indescribable things with the power she lent and decided his fate. 

But he was only meant to fall. He was never meant to choke on his own blood, his veins boiled and every bone broken. 

Tom Riddle could've gotten a clean ending and chose to die as he lived-to the extremes, always to the extremes. 

Because Tom Riddle thought he had Hermione Granger under control, and he should've known one thing: You can't control Hermione Granger. 

_You can't control a monster, he should've known. He was one himself, after all._

Hermione Granger had always been exceptionally kind. Even after Hogwarts everybody loved her. She was the sweet little angel and no one could understand how she fell in love with the devil- little did they know what she dreamed of.

Hermione Granger had always been exceptionally kind- Except when she hadn’t.

In retrospect, she had never, never, not once been dishonest with him. He should’ve known better. He should’ve known better. He should’ve known better. But he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

When he came home, she awaited him. Her smile was lethal and her eyes burned through him like the coldest fire. She kissed him, and it tasted like ash and smoke. It tasted like goodbye. Then she had put a knife through his stomach.

"I told you", she whispered as he whimpered under her spell, "that I would make you regret meeting me, didn’t I? I’m proving it"

 _"I will make you regret you have ever met me", she had whispered."Prove it", he had answered._

"Why are you doing this", he coughed later, blood dripping down his chin, "what have I done to you?"

"I’m following magics order", she laughed, and it sounded a little bit like Bellatrix, "She will kill me after I’ve done my deed."

"You’re insane", he had answered. Then he had screamed his lungs out while his blood boiled and coursed through his veins.

"I don’t want you to die", she had told him at one point," I want to rip your flesh open and take out your every bone. I want to tear your muscle fibers apart and rid you of every heartstring. I want you to suffer the way you made us suffer. I want you to regret that you were ever going to take over this world and when you take your last breaths I want to be the last thing you’ll ever see. And I want you to know that I took the lives of every of your little knights, so this timeline will never have to endure your stupid followers again. And when you’re dead, I hope Death will never let you rest."

He wanted to cry and scream and kiss her then, and she kicked him and asked what was wrong with him. He wanted to tell her that her shards had enamoured him, that her brokeness made her perfect, that her monster was everything he loved but he had stayed silent. 

He would never realize that her monster couldn’t be confined.

As the light faded and a crying darkness conquered the side of his eyes, she smiled maliciously and he thought she must be the devil with her dark sinful skin and the blood dripping from her nails. 

_Was this a story about love or about rage? Was this a story about a monster becoming human or a human turning into a monster? Were there two monsters in this story or none at all? Were they doing monstrous things or were they monsters? I don’t have the answers. Do you?_

_Maybe there are no answers.  
Maybe everything is answers.  
Non the less, goodbye, farewell  
See you in heaven, See you in hell  
We’ll see, we’ll see, oh how tragic  
good wishes from me, magic _

**Author's Note:**

> Hey,  
> this is basically what happens when I'm bored and in lockdown. Keep in mind this is not my usual writing style and highly experimental, so I might make a more descriptive and longer fic out of this (if I have motivation). English is not my mothertongue, I tried to proofread it but I know sometimes mistakes slip through. So, if you find any, just tell me and it will be appreciated and changed. Titel is from "mad woman" by Taylor Swift.  
> All I can say now is thanks for clicking on this fic, and if you enjoyed it a kudo or a comment would be very appreciated :)  
> Have a nice day and stay safe!  
> Love from me


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